Parent Lock one-shots
by Sigma Tears
Summary: A series of non-chronological one-shots about John and Sherlock's daughter
1. Angry Birds

John headed downstairs, still half-asleep even after his shower. He headed into the kitchen and saw Charlotte, his now six-year old daughter, seated at the kitchen at table, furiously swiping and tapping the screen of Sherlock's phone. John glanced over at Sherlock who was seemingly oblivious to the fact he was even there. Charlotte didn't even bother looking up as John took the seat next to her.

"I'm not going to get past this level this time, am I?" John wasn't sure if she was talking to herself but he decided to answer her anyway.

"What are you doing?" he asked, leaning over slightly.

"I'm playing Angry Birds. Daddy said I could use his phone. I'm stuck on this level though," Charlotte paused as she catapulted another bird towards a pig surrounded by rocks. "I'm not going to pass with a shot like that am I?" she said, scowling at the screen.

"Why don't you just restart the level and have another go then?"

"Daddy said the experience would be invaluable."

"Did he?" John looked over at Sherlock again, who this time looked up briefly from his microscope. "Did he say anything about it making you frustrated every time you get stuck?"

"No…"

John sighed. "Have you had anything to eat yet?"

"Yes…"

"Then why don't you go get washed and have another go later?" he suggested. Charlotte looked at him for a moment then turned her gaze to the phone again.

"Okay, just one more go first?"

John nodded. "One more go." He agreed.

John watched as Charlotte hit retry and started the level again for what she said was the fourteenth time. Sherlock peered over the top of his microscope surreptitiously.

Her first shot seemed to go well enough and the second one wasn't too bad either judging from her face. With the third shot however her body slumped. The defeat was almost tangible but Charlotte played on anyway. She watched the screen carefully, eyes widening as the rocks started falling to the ground.

"Please…" she whispered.

"It's a piece of software Charlotte. It can't hear you and it certainly won't respond." Sherlock said. John shot him a warning look telling him to shut up. In the end it didn't matter.

"I did it. I really did it," she turned to John. "I did it Dad, look!" She showed him the phone proudly and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Well done. But no, you're not starting the next level right now."

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll get dressed first." She hopped off the chair and walked round to Sherlock.

"Thank you Daddy." She kissed his cheek quickly, handing back his phone before running to get changed.

"John."

"Yeah?"

"Put my phone on charge."


	2. Ill

John brushed his fingers against Charlotte's neck then rested his hand against her forehead. Swollen glands, high temperature, blocked nose, coughing, and headaches. It was the worst cold Charlotte had had in years.

"I have to stay on the sofa all day and drink lots?" she asked.

"Yes and I'll probably keep you off school for the next week or so."

Sherlock walked into the room collapsing into his chair. He tossed over a small bottle.

"Nasal spray. It'll clear your nose." He explained.

"Sherlock, that's not meant to be given to nine-year olds…"

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm sure she can take it."

Despite his concerns, John let her use it. It would only be Sherlock's fault if it lead to substance abuse in the future.

"I can breathe again!" she said a few minutes later. Her words were much clearer now although speaking still hurt her throat. John went to make her a drink. Between Charlotte's being ill and Sherlock's lack of cases, John had two very different children to deal with and he wasn't sure his remaining sanity could survive.

A few hours later and John was stating to wish he could fall asleep as easily as Charlotte had. Sherlock had, as expected, become more and more irritable as the day progressed and it was starting to wear away at John's patience.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. They sounded familiar and John was only half surprised when Inspector Lestrade walked into the living room.

"John, Sherlock."

Charlotte stirred slightly at the sound of his voice. She woke properly a few minutes later.

"Greg?"

"Hey, Charlotte. How are you?"

"I'm fine, just ill. Do you have a case?"

Lestrade turned to Sherlock. "Triple homicide in Lewisham. I can't explain the rest without you seeing it. Will you come?"

"Of course. I'll be right behind you."

Lestrade nodded. John watched as Lestrade headed back to his car.

"You're not going."

Sherlock looked at him in puzzlement. "Why not?"

John sometimes forgot how idiotic Sherlock could be about some things.

"Charlotte's ill."

"Yes?"

"She's your daughter Sherlock! She's more important than any bloody case!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but they were interrupted by a bout of coughing from Charlotte.

"You can go if you want to both of you," she offered. "It's okay. Mrs Hudson's still here, I'll be fine."

Sherlock picked up his phone, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Lestrade, I can't make it right now… I know you need help but you saw that Charlotte was ill. I can't leave her."

Charlotte gestured for the phone.

"Greg, do you have a laptop with you? Or can you get one with a webcam? Daddy wants to help you but Dad says he it's not fair for him to leave right now."

Charlotte listened intently for a few moments before disconnecting.

"Greg says he'll set up a video chat. That way you can take the case but you don't have to go out."

"I'm a little worried that you're smarter than both of us…" John said.

Sherlock smiled. "She's my daughter. She'll always be brilliant."


	3. Nightmares

"She's five Sherlock. She doesn't need to know about the 30 types of killing. Especially not right before she goes to sleep."

"It's 33. More if you count the stupid ones."

"Like Andercide? The act of killing idiots and people like Anderson?" Charlotte mumbled sleepily.

"See? She understands!" Sherlock protested.

"Sherlock…" John's tone told Sherlock that this wasn't something he could argue about.

"I still think we should get her used to this sort of thing. How else is she meant to be useful to me on cases?"

John nudged the door to Charlotte's room open with his foot. "You really think you can take a child to a crime scene?" he asked.

"Yes, why not?" Sherlock pulled back the bed covers. "I've done it before."

John nearly dropped the sleeping girl. "What?! When was this?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Couple of months back. You went to visit Harry for the weekend."

"I was away for less than two days. You never thought to mention when I asked you if anything had happened, that you'd taken our daughter to a crime scene?"

"No."

"Well what did Lestrade and the others say?"

"Lestrade didn't mind so long as she didn't contaminate the evidence. Donovan was too surprised to see her with me to say anything about it. Anderson was less impressed. Probably because she told him he had the intelligence of a woodlouse."

"Did you tell her to say that?"

"No," Sherlock paused. "Is it worth mentioning that she later added that she regretted saying it because it might offend woodlice?"

John sighed and pulled the duvet up around Charlotte's shoulders.

"One day you two are going to get into serious trouble for insulting Scotland Yard members."

"I hardly think they care that much about Anderson."

"Not the point Sherlock."

It was hours later when they heard the screaming. It carried through to John and Sherlock's bedroom, waking them sharply. They sat up in the dark, glanced at each other for a second before jumping out of bed and sprinting down the hall. Sherlock's long legs gave him an advantage and by the time John entered Charlotte's room and turned on the side lamp, Sherlock already had her in his arms.

He was walking round the room slowly, talking quietly to her.

"It's okay, you're safe now. The nightmares can't hurt you anymore." He nodded to John. John turned the light off and held the doors open so Sherlock could carry her back into their room.

John climbed back into bed, shuffling over a little to make room for Charlotte. He reckoned she'd probably wake up again before the morning but at least if he and Sherlock were there, she would feel more protected. One of them could stay up with her tomorrow night to make sure the nightmares didn't return and after that she'd be okay again. That was the cycle: nightmare, bad dream, normality.

Tomorrow wasn't important though, not just yet. All that mattered to John tonight was keeping his child safe from the monsters in her mind.


	4. Cluedo

"I'm going to really regret this later…" John muttered as he finally managed to pull the knife out of the wall and release the Cluedo board.

"Probably." Charlotte grinned.

She went through to the kitchen, carefully moving some of Sherlock's equipment and experiments out of the way.

"Dad, what conditions do you think he wants the epithelial tissue samples in?" Charlotte called back to John.

"Well where are they at the minute?"

"Underneath the lights."

"God only knows then," he muttered to himself. "You'll have to ask him."

He heard Charlotte disappear down the hall to ask Sherlock what he was doing with the skin cells.

"He said they were supposed to be in the freezer but somebody took them out and forgot to put them back in again. Apparently he doesn't need them now though because Molly says she can give him a hand. Literally." Charlotte said when she returned.

I bet there aren't many parents that have a conversation about severed body parts with their ten year olds, John thought.

"Great. Is he going to be long?"

"Says he'll be through in a minute and it's not his fault if the rules are still wrong."

"He's never going to accept that it's just a game is he?" Charlotte shook her head.

"Doubt it. Which pieces did you manage to find?"

"All of them apart from that blue character, the dagger and the lead pipe."

"Did you check the skull?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I'm pretty sure the dagger is lodged in the parietal. And if I'm not mistaken, the lead pipe has somehow become embedded in the blue piece."

"We'll just have to play without them then. I'll be red."

John turned as Sherlock entered the room. "Charlotte's red, I'm yellow and the blue piece is out of action. Which one do you want to be?"

"The clever one."

"They're pieces from a game. I'm pretty sure they don't have any sort of IQ."

"I think this one's a professor or something." Charlotte said.

Sherlock shrugged. "Sounds fine to me."

It was half an hour later that the game began to draw to a conclusion and all three of them had started to become unintentionally competitive. Charlotte needed the room, Sherlock hadn't been shown most of the cards he had ticked off but instead used his intelligence to deduce what the others held and John was just waiting for the murderer. There had been far too many discussions over the actual possibility of any one solution and John just wanted to prove to Sherlock that it was possible for one of the characters to have done it.

After another round, John put down his cards carefully.

"I'm ready to guess." He reached for the envelope in the middle of the board. One by one, he flipped over the cards.

"Miss Scarlet in the library with the candlestick."

"What do you know; I killed a man on my first time playing." Charlotte said.

"That's not possible! Look at the character! Do you really think she'd have the strength to beat a man to death? Even if she could do it, people would hear!"

"Sherlock, it's a game. Let it go." John said calmly.

"He's right though."

"Don't encourage him!" John replied.

As the inevitable arguing ensued, John's only thought was that sometimes it was better to just leave things pinned to the wall.


	5. When John was Away

Charlotte was already up when Sherlock finally got out of bed.

"Where's John?" he asked, masking the confusion and slight worry in his voice.

"I don't know, I've not seen him this morning. Didn't he say he was going to visit Aunt Harry this weekend?"

Sherlock fell into the armchair opposite her.

"No idea. If he did, I wasn't listening."

"You won't know that Mrs Hudson went to visit some friends either then?"

"No, when will she be back?"

"A couple of days after Dad. I think she's gone for a week."

"So there's just us?"

"Apparently so."

Sherlock's phone rang before he could say anything else.

"Lestrade. Yes of course. Where? I'll be there soon."

He turned to Charlotte.

"Two bodies in Smithfield. Do you want to come?"

"Murder?"

"Unless it's suddenly possible to completely slit your stomach, remove your internal organs and then hang yourself upside down, yes. Coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Dad's not exactly going to be thrilled with us…"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Doesn't matter, I'll just tell him I had no choice in the matter. Which way will be faster, tube or taxi?"

Charlotte thought for a moment. "Given the time, I think both will be busy. We're probably better off going in a car."

"Taxi it is then."

It was half an hour later that they arrived in Smithfield. The usually busy market had been cordoned off to make room for the police. Donovan reluctantly let them in.

"Freak."

"Sergeant Donovan."

"Who's the kid?"

"My daughter." Sherlock ducked under the tape as Donovan froze open-mouthed in shock. Charlotte followed close behind.

"I don't like her." Charlotte said when they were out of earshot.

"You'll like Anderson even less," Sherlock returned. "Speak of the devil…"

"Great, the psychopath returns to help us in another case. Wonderful."

Charlotte spoke before Sherlock got the chance.

"He's a sociopath, not a psychopath. Before you ask, I'm Charlotte, his daughter. Yes, I know who you are. You're Anderson, you work in forensics and you have the intelligence of a woodlouse."

"If you wouldn't mind telling us where Lestrade is…" Sherlock added.

"Through there." Anderson said with disgust, nodding to the building behind him.

"I think that's the best thing you've ever said." Sherlock said as they walked towards Lestrade.

"You're not meant to bring a child to a crime scene Sherlock…"

"John and Mrs Hudson are away, I had to bring her. Besides, she wanted to come."

"Fine, just don't let her contaminate the evidence."

"You know she won't."

Lestrade lead them to the bodies. Sherlock claimed not to have gathered much but he promised to get back to Lestrade once he had run some tests on blood samples he had taken from each of the victims to find what they had been drugged with (since they had been killed within minutes of each other, they must have been drugged so that the killer wouldn't be faced with resistance from whichever one he killed second). Lestrade of course didn't believe that that was all Sherlock had worked out but he was used to having to wait for Sherlock to reveal information when it suited him.

"I shouldn't have told Anderson he has the intelligence of a woodlouse, should I?" Charlotte said as they reached a taxi down the street.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked.

She shrugged. "It might offend woodlice."


	6. Caravans

When Sherlock had accepted the case of Mr James Whishaw in Hampshire, he hadn't expected it would force himself, John and Charlotte to stay in a caravan.

Whishaw was convinced there was a murderer living somewhere on his site ("a logical conclusion given that you've found a body" Sherlock had commented) and had approached Sherlock to find him or her. Seeing as Sherlock had nothing else to work on, he had accepted.

Whishaw met John, Sherlock and Charlotte at the station.

"Ah, Mr Holmes. I'm sorry, I didn't realise you would be bringing your family."

"They work with me."

"Even the child?"

"I'm Charlotte. And I'm not a child, I'm 14."

"Of course, my apologies. I'm afraid that I planned your accommodation according to my belief that Mr Holmes would be coming alone…"

"Can't you just change it?" John asked.

"No, we only had this caravan spare."

"Sorry, did you say caravan?" John hoped that he had misheard.

"Yes. I'd appreciate it if you could stay on site. I think it would help with your investigations."

The three of them had no other option than to find a way to fit into a space designed for two. Not an easy task when both Sherlock and Charlotte were used to sprawling over any and all available surfaces…

"Sherlock, I swear to god, if you don't move over I will make you sleep outside." John hissed.

"I can't do anything about it John, if I move any more I'll fall down the gap between the bed and the wall."

"You think that's bad?" Charlotte said. "Try being on the "sofa". It doesn't help that I hate being in small spaces."

"Sherlock, are you sure he didn't mention anything about this to you yesterday?"

"Yes! He never said anything about asking us to sleep on site."

"Maybe that's because he wasn't expecting _us_, he was only expecting _you_." Charlotte said.

"It's hardly my fault he assumed I'd be working alone."

"Well-"

"Ow!" John was cut off by a yell of pain from Charlotte.

"What did you do?" Sherlock asked.

"I was trying to turn over and I hit my head."

"On what?"

"This ledge thing above my head."

"Did you not think about that before you started moving?"

"I didn't know it was there!"

John sighed as the two of them got into a lengthy discussion about whether or not Charlotte's mishap had been easily avoidable.

"It's going to be a long night…"


	7. Exams

John was starting to get used to hearing shooting when he got home. He wasn't so used to it being Charlotte decorating the wall with bullet marks.

"What are you doing?!"

"I have exams; I'm under a lot of pressure right now."

"And you thought a good method of stress relief was to shoot the walls?"

"No, of course not. Shooting a gun releases adrenaline. Adrenaline is a hormone which means it travels in the blood and has a long-lasting effect. I just needed something to make me focus on revision. Besides I only gave Smiley a friend."

"Finished?" Sherlock wandered in.

"Did you know she was destroying the walls?"

"Gun shots aren't exactly quiet. But I didn't know she was planning on it before she started, if that's what you meant."

Charlotte fell back into the chair behind her.

"I'm sorry about the wall. Really I am. It's just I have a lot of exams over the next few weeks and I still have coursework to finish off. Then, when I've done all of that, I have a fencing competition. Everyone expects me to do so well; I don't want to feel like I've disappointed anyone..." She blinked back tears of frustration but there was no disguising the slight tremor in her voice.

John sat down opposite her and Sherlock stretched out over the sofa.

"How many is a lot?" John asked.

"Eleven different subjects with multiple exams in each, plus coursework for French."

Sherlock cut in before John could say any more.

"You're not going to let anyone down. Not me, not John, not anyone. We're always going to be proud of you. You're going to be amazing. You already know everything you need for the next couple of weeks and you've got a great mind. If you're not sure on anything when you start answering the questions, you're clever enough to be able to make an educated guess and produce something worthy of credit. Don't think about the other kids, their standards are lower than yours. That's why they think you'll get good results, because you're better than they are. Most of them are going to be happy with a C or B but they know that you'll never settle for anything less than an A."

"I can't afford to, I'm predicted all A stars…"

"But you're willing to work for that. That's the difference. They don't have any ambition or drive. When they see someone who does, they automatically assume that they'll be good at everything."

"I'm a terrible physicist…"

"No you're not. Physics is less suited to you than other subjects because it's more based on visualisation than practice. You have an advantage though since a lot of physics questions are based on maths and formulae."

"Yeah, I guess," Charlotte smiled. "Can I use you for biology, chemistry, psychology and so on?"

"Anything you need. And I promise never to wish you luck."

"For most people that would be a bad thing…" John said.

"Charlotte's not most people."

"When people say "good luck" to me or anything like that, it demoralises me," Charlotte explained. "It means they don't believe in me or they think I'm going to need luck to succeed. Even if they don't mean it like that, that's still the way my brain interprets it. It's worse if either of you two say it to me because I need to know you believe in me more than I need that confidence from anyone else."

John nodded. "We'll always have complete faith in you," he said. "Although that doesn't mean you should put a dozen bullets in the wall."

"It was either that or making hand grenades…"

"Stick to the shooting the wall."


	8. Mycroft

Mycroft arrived to look after Charlotte five minutes after John and Sherlock left for the evening. Charlotte knew the timing had been deliberate. It was too precise for coincidence. Besides, her uncle never did anything without serious consideration in advance.

It was this thought that made her pause before revealing her deductions about him. She knew that when Mycroft had first met John, he had secretly tested him and John hadn't realised until two months later. She didn't want to do the same.

"How's Anthea?" she asked cautiously.

Mycroft looked puzzled. "Anthea?"

"Dad says that's not her real name. We call her Anthea because that's what she pretended to be called when she first met him." Charlotte explained.

"Oh, her. She's fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because you care about her."

"What makes you think that?"

Charlotte knew that he _was _testing her now but she wanted to prove to Mycroft that she was every bit as good as his brother.

"The ring you have, she wears one too. Nobody else in the government does, only you two. It's clearly not a sign then. You keep looking at it, suggesting you have some sort of emotional attachment to it or a person you associate with it. Anthea's the only one with a ring like yours so you have feelings for her."

Mycroft nodded. "Anything else?"

"There's the faint smell of a woman's perfume, it's on your clothes too. Even though your suit has clearly been cleaned in the past few days, it's still picked up the scent. It could just be from being very close to someone wearing the perfume recently but that would be on your skin more than your clothes. No, it's been exposed to the perfume over the past few days for long periods of time. Your job means you don't work directly with Anthea enough for that so you must be living with her instead."

"How do you know it's her perfume?"

"You don't have any female relatives young enough that would wear that scent. You're not close to many women; the only person you see regularly is Anthea. Besides, I spoke to her once and I remember her wearing the exact same perfume."

"Very good."

"Also, there's one of her earrings caught on your jacket collar."

Mycroft reached for the earring and slipped it into his pocket. He hadn't noticed it earlier but he maintained his composure so that Charlotte might think it was part of his plan. He wasn't surprised that Charlotte had seen it. She was Sherlock's daughter after all.

"You're quite correct. Anthea and I have been living together for about six months now. It _is_ her perfume and earring and she is the only one with a ring like mine. Nothing you didn't already know of course."

Charlotte nodded.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to your parents. I'd never hear the end of it from Sherlock."

"I won't say a word." Charlotte promised.

"I don't think you'll need to. Sherlock will figure it out the next time he sees me." Mycroft mused.

"Then it doesn't really matter if I say anything or not."

"No, not really. All the same, don't mention it to him."

"It was a test wasn't it? To see what I could deduce about you?"

"Naturally. I wasn't expecting you to do so well."

"I'll give you some advice: never underestimate people and definitely never underestimate me. It never ends well."


	9. Hurt

John paced the apartment anxiously. It was getting dark and Charlotte should have been back hours ago. She would never stay out after school for any long period of time without ringing home first. Even Sherlock was starting to show signs of concern.

"John, she'll be fine. Sit down."

"I can't. You know this isn't like her. You can't say you're not even slightly worried."

"No, you're right, I can't," Sherlock agreed. "But getting agitated isn't going to solve anything."

John didn't reply, just kept walking. He stopped by the window, peering out onto the street below for her familiar silhouette.

"Where is she?" He muttered to himself.

John and Sherlock both jumped as the phone started to ring. Sherlock leant over to answer.

"Yes, that's me… She is my daughter, yes… Why, what happened? Is she okay? We'll be there shortly."

"What happened?" John said quickly.

"Charlotte's in hospital. She was hit by a car but the doctor's say she's fine, no major injuries." Sherlock said, tossing John his jacket.

"How can you be so calm about this?!" The panic in John's voice became more pronounced.

Sherlock put his hand on John's arm. "She's fine. She's still alive and relatively unharmed. You don't need to panic."

"How unharmed is relatively?"

"Compared to a bomb victim, there's absolutely nothing wrong with her."

"Sherlock, now is not a good time…"

"I don't know, alright? They didn't say anything beyond the fact that she's alive and well."

"But hurt?"

"She _was_ hit by a car…"

John shook his head in exasperation, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Mrs Hudson, we're going out!" he called, slamming the door behind him. He hailed a taxi and swung in before it had come to a stop. Sherlock slid in next to him and directed the driver to the hospital. John sat drumming his fingers against his leg impatiently.

"It is rush hour John." Sherlock said quietly as they paused behind a dozen cars waiting for the traffic lights to change. John didn't reply. It was only natural for him to want to see Charlotte and make sure she was okay. John couldn't understand why Sherlock seemed to be dealing with the news so well.

They arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later. John all but ran through the corridors, Sherlock following close behind. He rounded the corner to see Charlotte sat on one of the beds.

"Dad!" She stood quickly, frowning slightly as a wave of nausea swept through her. John made her sit down again as he began checking her over. Sherlock stood to the side, talking with the doctor that had made the call.

"What happened?" John asked.

"I was walking home from school. I was half way across the road when a car came speeding out from nowhere. He managed to hit the brakes so it wasn't too bad. They ran all the usual checks. Nothing's broken, there's no internal bleeding or head damage. I've just got a lot of bruising, a few cuts and scrapes and mild shock." Charlotte smiled as she lifted the thick orange blanket.

"Alright, I'm going to talk to the doctor and then we're going home."

"Sounds great."

Sherlock sat next to her as John took his place.

"How is he?" Charlotte asked.

"He was started to get nervous when you weren't back on time. I thought he was going to have a panic attack when I told him you were in hospital."

"You told him I was fine?"

"Of course I did. He's an ex-army doctor though. It's his job to worry about protecting other people."

"I'm never walking home from school again am I?"

"Not for at least a week." Sherlock confirmed. Charlotte sighed.

"I think he needs this blanket more than I do…"


	10. Friends

As soon as Charlotte shut the door, she knew her parents would recognise something was wrong. She was too subdued. Still, after a terrible day, she wasn't in the mood to act like everything was fine. Too tired to even drag her bag and jacket upstairs, she dumped them over the banister and traipsed into the flat.

"Bad day." Sherlock commented.

"Awful." She agreed.

John looked up. "What happened?"

"Nothing. It was just one of those days," she lied. "Can someone get me a drink whilst I get changed?" she asked, skipping away from the subject.

"Sure." John stood and went to the kitchen as Charlotte headed through to her room. Sherlock caught her wrist as she went past. She held his gaze for a moment, knowing that she wasn't going to be able to pass this off as nothing. She nodded, agreeing to explain later.

"I'll take it." Sherlock said when John came out of the kitchen with a mug.

John narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You're voluntarily moving for something as "unimportant" as a drink?"

"I'm moving for Charlotte, not the drink. She _is_ important."

John held up his hands in surrender as he passed the cup over. Sherlock knocked on Charlotte's door quietly. No answer. He tried to open it but there was something in the way.

"Charlotte?"

There was a shuffling from the other side and a minute later Sherlock was able to open the door enough to slip through. He nearly fell over Charlotte, who was had clearly been sat against the door when he tried to open it earlier. Sherlock sat down next to her, giving her time to wipe away the tears that she had been trying to control. He put the mug in front of her and Charlotte reached out for it gratefully. It only took a moment for her to compose herself again and hide all trace of the internal turmoil she was fighting.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"I don't know," she answered in a broken voice. "I don't want to be alone."

"You're telling the story backwards…"

"Sorry," she smiled weakly. "Dad's habits. But I really don't understand what I've done. I'm not a good person so I obviously don't have many friends, which makes the few that _do_ put up with me, more special."

"Over the past week or so, they've been pulling away though. I'm probably over-reacting but I haven't heard from them outside of school for a few days now. It makes you feel so alone, knowing that none of them care enough to talk to me any more than they have to."

"You didn't text them instead?"

"I did once or twice but they obviously didn't want to talk. I'd write long messages and it'd take them twenty minutes for them to send a one-word reply. I stopped trying after that, I didn't want to keep annoying them."

"Anyway, this morning they all disappeared."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock interrupted.

"They were right behind me but when I got outside, they weren't there. All of them had decided to leave me without mentioning where they were going or why. I spent all of break wondering what I'd done wrong. I'd only been with them for half an hour; there wasn't enough time for me to have messed up again."

"Again." Sherlock repeated softly.

"When they arrived for the next lesson, I asked them where they'd been, explaining that they'd been right behind me," Charlotte continued. "Somehow Kayleigh managed to make it sound like _I_ was the one to blame. I didn't know what to do. My best friend was turning against me. She hated me."

"She actually said that?"

Charlotte nodded. "My only thought was to disconnect from them. Kayleigh and Jazz clearly wanted nothing to do with me so I went borderline sociopath. Not the easiest time to have a project deadline of one hour and zero work already done. They were gone at lunch too. They just left within ten minutes of me getting there. What did I do wrong? At the start I mean, not when I shut them out to protect myself."

"Honestly? I don't know," Sherlock said. "Sorry."

Charlotte shook her head. "It's not your fault I can't keep friends."

"Do you want to explain everything to John or shall I?"

"I'll do it. Just give me a few minutes."

"You can't kill them, you know." Charlotte said as she was about to go to bed.

"Who? Your supposed friends that acted like you were nothing?" John asked.

"Yes, them."

"Of course we can kill them. We're perfectly capable." Sherlock said.

"Why do you ask?"

"You let me watch Thoroughly Modern Millie on a decent TV. Things have to be pretty bad if you're not making me watch movies in my room."

"You had a rough week. You needed it."

"I need to sleep for a couple of thousand millennia. Night."

Charlotte woke to the persistent buzzing of the doorbell. Sherlock never answered the door and it wasn't a client so John probably wouldn't go either. With a sigh Charlotte trudged downstairs, mostly out of curiosity, to see who was disturbing her sleep at eight in the morning.

"Kayleigh?"

"Hey. Mind if I come in?" She said, pushing past Charlotte. "It's upstairs right?"

"Why are you here?" Charlotte asked, following her into the living room.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday. I was having a bad day and I took it out on you when I shouldn't have."

"You think you were having a bad day? I had to go through it wondering why my best friend suddenly hated me! I had to come home and act as if everything was fine because I didn't want to bother my family with something like this."

"I said I'm sorry, what more do you want?"

"I want to stop being hurt. You promised that you'd never hurt me but I seem to cry more for you than anyone else. I love you more than anything but you always leave me so confused. And for some reason, I always seem to come running the second you call."

"Yesterday was a mistake…"

"Yeah, I get it."

"You're still my friend?"

"I'll always be your friend, as long as you want me."

When John and Sherlock got up it was hard to tell which of them was more surprised to see Charlotte and Kayleigh lolling over the sofa as if nothing had ever happened between them.

"We're us," Charlotte explained. "I need her too much to fight with her for any longer than necessary."

"So yesterday she hated you and today she's practically sat on you?"

Charlotte shrugged. "You kind of get used to it around Kayleigh."

"You have some really weird friends." John said.

"Understatement of the century."


	11. A Case

"Is there a Mr Sherlock Holmes here?"

Charlotte stood to face the man in the door way, looking over him swiftly.

"I think you better sit down, Mr Hunter." She said returning to her seat. The man jerked back, startled.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said 'I think you better sit down, Mr Hunter'." She repeated levelly.

"But… but how did you know…" He asked shakily.

"The tag on your briefcase, it has your name on it. Now, please, sit down."

Hunter took the seat opposite Charlotte.

"Will Mr Holmes be long?"

"He is currently away on a case-"

"Then perhaps I would be better returning at another time…" Hunter interrupted, standing to leave.

"Nonsense, you have clearly travelled a long way. My father may be away, but I will be more than happy to look into anything which may be troubling you."

"But you're what? Fifteen?"

"Yes, but age is no guarantee of efficiency."

"What?"

"It's from a movie, never mind. How can I help?" She asked, instantly in a more professional frame of mind.

"My daughter. She's being threatened."

"Threatened how?"

Hunter sagged a little as he opened his briefcase, producing several envelopes stuffed with documents. He tossed one of the packages over to Charlotte. She pulled out a handful of papers, scanning the contents. The first was full of emails and chats, all of which contained some sort of promise of violence. Another sheet showed anonymous messages from various websites, fragments from a much larger psychological war being recorded over the internet. Then Charlotte came to the hand written messages that had evidently been shoved through her door. The letters were carefully constructed so as not to give away anything about the writer and the paper was unexceptional. Charlotte carefully returned the papers to the envelope and thought for a moment before addressing her client.

"Mr Hunter, have you or your daughter consulted the police about this matter?"

"No," he paused, looking uncomfortable. "She doesn't know that I'm aware of the situation. She left her computer on once and I saw the emails. Then I started to notice the letters on the doorstep. I deleted the messages as soon I as took photographs and I hid the letters, I didn't want her to see any more than she had to." Hunter explained nervously.

"How long has this been going on for?"

"A few months."

"And something changed very recently."

"What do you mean?"

"Your daughter has been receiving threatening messages for several months now but you haven't gone to the police. Now, you're visiting a consulting detective. What changed?"

"Yesterday she received a message rather vividly describing her dying sometime over the next week."

"And you believe that your daughter is in real danger from this?"

"Someone is threatening to kill her, so yes, I believe she is in danger."

"M Hunter, please try to remain calm. How old is your daughter?"

"Almost seventeen."

"What can you tell me about her school life? Her friends, what were they like? Boyfriend, girlfriend?"

"As far as I can tell she was always very happy. She never had very many friends. There was a boy once, a few years ago. Nothing happened between them. He was several years older than her; she couldn't be allowed to pursue a relationship with him."

"Did she stay in touch with him?"

"I honestly couldn't say."

"Very well. If you leave me your address, I'll visit you at your home tomorrow. Please try not to worry too much about your daughter, I believe no harm will come to her."

"You have an idea then?"

"Yes, I think I understand the situation at hand but please, don't ask me to explain now. I honestly don't think you'd understand." She said, ushering him out the door.

Charlotte waited until she could no longer hear Hunter's protestations before reaching for her phone. She drummed her fingers impatiently against the desk as her call went through to voicemail.

"I thought I better let you know I'm not going to be in tomorrow. A case has turned up so I'll be away, not sure how long for. Since dad's busy with this murder, I thought I better take it. I assume standard rates apply?"


End file.
